Serendipity, her mother would have said.

She pulled the elastic band from her hair and then swept it up into a ponytail again, securing the loose ends tightly to keep them off her neck. It was another hot day. The ancient window air conditioner she’d found in the attic barely worked, but it cooled enough so that she could sit in the dining room and work. And for now, that was all she needed. She poured herself a cold drink, set it on the table next to her laptop, and went to work on a billing statement. She was midway through it when the phone rang.

“Lorna, Regan. Listen, Mitch has a friend who might be able to help you. He’s a PI-Mitch knows he’s licensed in Maryland, he’s not sure about Pennsylvania, though. The PI’s a former FBI agent who went out on his own a few years back, formed his own agency. Anyway, Mitch thinks he’s still in business. I took the liberty of giving Mitch your name and phone number, I hope that’s okay. If Mitch can get in touch with his friend, he’ll ask him to contact you. So if some strange man calls, just ask him if he’s a friend of Mitch Peyton.”

“What’s his name? The investigator.”

“Oh, it’s Dawson. T. J. Dawson. Let me know if he calls, okay, so I can tell Mitch?”

“Will do. Regan, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me after you find the information that you need,” Regan said. “Thank me after you’ve proven that this woman did not kill her son.”

“Lorna Stiles?”

“Yes?” Lorna was out of breath from running to answer the phone before her mother’s old message came on the answering machine. She made a mental note to change it.

“T. J. Dawson. Mitch Peyton asked me to call.”

“Who?” She frowned, then remembered yesterday’s conversation with Regan. “Oh. Regan Landry’s friend.”

“Friend of a friend, right. I thought you were expecting my call.”

“Regan said she’d ask her friend-your friend Mitch-to speak with you, but I didn’t expect to hear from you this quickly. I appreciate you calling so soon.”

“Mitch said it was important.”

“Well, where would you like me to start?” Lorna tried to stretch the phone cord into the dining room, where she’d left her handbag. She wanted to write down his name and phone number but couldn’t quite reach the pen and paper. She started opening and closing the kitchen drawers, hoping to get lucky.

“You have a friend who’s been arrested on murder charges?”

“Yes. I believe she’s innocent, but the police-”

“What were the charges?’

“That she killed her son.”

“I mean, first degree, second… manslaughter…”

“Oh. I don’t know.” She felt her cheeks twinge with color. How could she not know? “I didn’t think to ask. I should have.”

“I can find that out.”

“When do you think you can start working on this?”

“In about three hours.”

“What?”

“I’m on my way from southern New Jersey to Baltimore. I’ll be driving along Interstate 95. Mitch said you’re in southern Pennsylvania.”

“Right. I’m about thirty-five minutes off of I-95, actually.”

“Would it be all right if I swung by on my way through the area? I can get all the information from you, we can talk about the case, my fee, see how much time you want to invest in this.”

“Fine.” She gave him directions from the highway, then hung up, and gulped. How much did private investigators charge? She had no idea, but figured them to be fairly expensive.

And just how much did she want to invest in Billie Eagan?

She’d been having second thoughts since volunteering to post the woman’s bail. That was one thing, since the money would be returned to her. But offering to take on the expense of a private investigator was something else. That had been a strictly emotional response to the situation, she had finally acknowledged to herself as she had lain awake the night before, questioning her sanity. She’d wanted to do what she thought her mother would have done under the circumstances to help her friend. However, as Regan had said, Lorna had only Billie’s word that she and Mary Beth had been friends. What were the chances Billie was playing on Lorna’s sympathy? She had never been what one might consider an upright citizen. For all Lorna knew, Billie could have fabricated the whole friendship story to get Lorna on her side, where she could take advantage of her. Like by having Lorna post bail to get her out of prison.

Well, she’d deal with that later. Right now, she hadn’t paid anyone anything, so no harm, no foul. Besides, at the moment, she had a client waiting for his monthly accounts receivable number, and she had another hour’s worth of work before she could send it to him. She pushed Billie Eagan from her mind, and went back to work.

She finished the receivables and went on to the payables report for the same company, pausing only to heat up a frozen pizza, which she ate sitting on the front porch. At one point, Brad Walker’s wife, Liz, passed by-at least, Lorna had been pretty sure it was Liz-but she hadn’t stopped and hadn’t returned Lorna’s wave. Maybe it hadn’t been her.

Lorna was still working when the doorbell rang at two-fifteen, startling her. She hadn’t realized how late it was.

The man standing on the front porch was tall-almost a foot taller than Lorna’s five feet six inches-and sported a baseball cap over curly blond hair. He wore dark glasses, and a beige T-shirt over deeply tanned arms, and cut-off denims over legs that were long and muscular. She knew he had to be the PI, but wished she could see the look on her face. She’d been expecting Barnaby Jones. What she got was more like a fair-haired Magnum, PI.

“Mr. Dawson?” She opened the inside door, leaving the screen door locked. Just in case.

“It’s T.J., yes. You’re Lorna Stiles?”

“Yes. Come in.” She opened the screen door and he stepped into the foyer and pretty much filled it. She took a step back unconsciously. The man looked as if he was feeling the heat as much as she was. “We can talk in here, or out on the porch. It might be cooler out there, though.”

“Then the porch gets my vote.”

“Can I get you something cold to drink first? Iced tea?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

He followed her into the kitchen, and on her way past the window she looked into the driveway where he’d parked his car under the magnolia-a taupey-colored convertible, the top down. It was exactly the car she’d expect a man who looked like he did to drive.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing out the window.

“Crossfire.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Lovely is just one of its attributes.”

“Fast?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “What’s the point of having a slow sports car?”

“True.”

“So, tell me about your friend,” he asked as she took a glass from the cupboard.

“It’s a long story.” She opened the freezer for ice cubes, which she popped into the glass.

“Start at the beginning. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Are we on the clock?” She reached into the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of tea she’d made earlier, and filled the glass. “Because I might have some reservations about this.”

“The clock doesn’t start ticking until I decide if I want to take the case, so you can give me the long version. And it will be strictly up to you, if you want to think about it a little more, or if you decide against hiring me. There’s no obligation. We haven’t signed any contracts. Right now, we’re just talking. So go on. Tell me from the beginning.”

She did.

“So that’s it, that’s all they have on this woman? A body with skull fractures front and back, and old signs of child abuse? And a kid who said he dropped Jason off at home and he was never seen again?”

She nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very solid arrest to me.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You might not have much of a decision to make after all. I think they’re going to end up dismissing the charges.”